


"Fight."

by p0lluxe



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Flowey - Freeform, Flowey the Flower - Freeform, undertale - Freeform, weird violent sunflower from when I got a request a while back
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-09-07 14:33:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8804614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/p0lluxe/pseuds/p0lluxe
Summary: It suits one to reflect before battle.





	

The Underground was filled with the heavy silence that often preceded acts of war. Flowey couldn't remember a time within the last few months that he had heard much besides the clash of weapons and the hiss and crackle of magic, the cries of pain and the howls of victory, and, occasionally, the soft weeping of someone, neither an enemy, nor a friend, holding dust in their hands. It had been long since he had tasted anything but the bitter blood, the metallic fury, the bitterness of dust. Long since he had felt anything but rage, bloodlust and iron determination. A force of will refusing to shirk from even the strongest of foes, from the bloodiest of fights, from the carnage of his pyrrhic victories, not even from him.  
Him.  
Not even from the king. Especially not from the king.  
Flowey sneered.  
The old, worthless, stupid, stupid monarch needed to be extinguished, eradicated, wiped away.  
He needed to be tortured, tormented, traumatized… just like he had time after time done to him. To Flowey, the king was no more than dirt beneath his roots.  
Worse than dirt.  
Shit, no more than dog shit.  
Flowey looked out into the battlefield. They were in front of the castle, before an expanse of dry land. It was warm, but not like Hotland, where they had been a few weeks ago.  
Was it only weeks?  
Hotland had fallen, inevitably, as had Snowdin. Undyne and her guards made it far enough to block them near the outskirts of Waterfall, but she hadn’t lasted a minute against him. Flowey did have to admire her strength, however. She proved a formidable opponent. Flowey remembered well how she had looked, flat on her back, pinned down, sharp teeth bared in a snarl, neck corded, sweat beading on her forehead, narrowed eyes widening even as her arms strained against the thorny vines drawing rich blood, bright blood, stark, a blazingly red contrast to the blue of Waterfall. Blue that ranged from the cold gemstones to the pale froth on the water to the rich sapphire of the arching, water-slick rock. He recalled, too, her words, her cutting insinuations that he was wrong, that he was making a mistake, to have some mercy.  
Mercy.  
He was far, far past mercy. He had negotiated. He had been willing to take over peacefully, offering to call off his army and lay down his weapons, surrender the hold he had on the minds and wills of his men, and free them. His words fell on deaf ears, however. He didn’t mind however. He had been reading the books Toriel kept, and the books on human history. He admired their brute force, their graceful balance of finesse and brutality.  
If Chara had hated humanity, then they were stupid, stupid just like Asgore. If Flowey hated monsterkind, then he would annihilate it, he would transform it.  
He would become as a god. He would be more regal than any ruler. He would command with impunity, he would take and take and take, just like they had taken from him. Flowey stared with hollow eyes at the castle, lit by the fires around him.  
It was time to act. To fight. the time for mercy had passed. He turned. He saw his army, shifting their weapons, summoning their magic. Steeling themselves. Watching. Waiting. Ready.  
A grin cracked across Flowey’s face, his features becoming twisted, a mockery of what he had been. He saw his army shuffle with unease. He opened his mouth, the word upon his tongue becoming distorted as he grew taller, taller, and taller still, magic unfurling his leaves and petals, his body renting itself open to reveal thorns sharper than knives. His eyes glowed. He laughed, power spinning through him. A ring of bullets appeared around his head. A crown, fit for a king. A real king. He gave the order, leering down at his army.  
“Fight.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for checking out my weird writing whoaaaa!!! stay tuned for stuff from Undertale, Yowapeda and probably OFF as well!  
> (I wanted this to be double spaced so you could actually look at it without basically going blind rip)


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